Anyone but You

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  It took a while, and we barely spoke the whole time. My stomach growled and I was going to have to rush to have time to eat anything before my next class.

  At last the logo was finished. Bold and purple and black, which I guess were the official colors of the gym. Not my taste, but it worked.

  “Looks good,” I said, and Tuesday squinted up at it.

  “You think?”

  “Yeah. It’s very . . . aggressive.” She turned and raised her eyebrows.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I got down off the ladder.

  “Just what I said. That’s the whole CrossFit thing, right? Aggressive military-style stuff? Sit-ups until you throw up blood?” I didn’t know much about CrossFit, but that was the gist I’d gotten from anything I’d seen.

  “Some of it can be like that, but this gym is going to be different,” she said, folding up the ladder with a snap and leaning it against the wall.

  “Different how?” I thought she was a franchise so would be beholden to the main entity. It was one of the main reasons I had decided not to franchise and go it on my own instead.

  Tuesday didn’t answer. Instead, she sat down on one of the wooden boxes that were stacked against the opposite wall.

  “You want my business plan?” she asked. I looked toward the door.

  “Are you always like this?” I asked. She blew out a breath.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You must be a delight at parties.” I should leave. I was hungry and she wasn’t being the nicest. Yet here I was again, with my feet stuck to the checkered floor.

  “Not a big fan of parties. Prefer to stay home with my turtles.” I blinked a few times.

  “Turtles?” Had I heard her right?

  “Never mind,” she said, fiddling with the edge of the box and not looking at me.

  I couldn’t believe the next words that came out of my mouth. “Look, I’m going to get some lunch, do you want to come?”

  What the hell?

  Tuesday’s head snapped up and she eyed me, suspicious.

  “You want to take me out to lunch?”

  “Yes?” It sounded like I wasn’t sure at all, which was the truth.

  “Okay,” she said, slapping her ample thighs and standing up. “Where to?”

  And that was how I found myself sitting across from Tuesday, my grumpy landlord, at my favorite lunch place.

  “I haven’t really gone around the neighborhood yet to find out what’s here. This is nice.” She picked up the menu and I didn’t know what to say or do so I just kept pretending to read my own menu even though I’d been here so many times I already knew what I wanted.

  The waiter came over and I knew he recognized me because I got takeout here almost every day.

  “Hey, how’s it going Sutton?” he asked, and I felt myself blushing and mumbling that things were going well. He’d even come to a few yoga classes in the past.

  “What can I get for you?” he asked, and I ordered my usual of the house salad with goat cheese, a fresh pressed mango, orange, and peach juice, and a side of fries because I needed potatoes right now.

  Tuesday got the steak strip salad, a side of sweet potato fries, a side of hummus and chips, a green juice, and a peanut butter chocolate protein shake. I tried not to stare, because the plates here weren’t tiny. I almost never finished my salads when I got them. I was hoping to have the fries later on between evening sessions.

  Tuesday stared right at me after she placed her order, as if daring me to say something. I had the feeling she wanted me to make a comment, so I didn’t. I just handed the waiter my menu and pressed my lips together into a smile.

  “Their salads are so good here. They don’t skimp on anything,” I said. Tuesday just grunted.

  “So . . .” I said, my voice trailing off. I didn’t know how to talk to someone like Tuesday. Where did I even start? “How is the gym going?” That seemed like the only topic I could think of to ask about.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said, and the waiter brought us water. I grabbed my glass and started drinking, if only for something to do.

  “Do what?” I asked, after I’d nearly drained the whole glass.

  “Do the small talk thing. It’s insulting to both of us.” I set my water down.

  “I’m just trying to be nice,” I said. “But I can sit here in silence if that’s what you want. I don’t even know why you came.” I didn’t want to sit in silence, but at least it gave me time to just stare at her body and wonder how she’d gotten it like that and how many hours a day she worked out and how much she could lift.

  “I was hungry,” she said. “I don’t turn down food. Ever.” To build those muscles, I was guessing she had to eat a lot.

  “Fine,” I said, wishing I had sipped my water more slowly. Instead I swirled the ice around in the glass, waiting for it to melt.

  “I’m not good at people,” she said. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” I looked up from my water and she was staring out the window.

  “What do you mean?” She glanced back at me.

  “Nothing.”

  “No, tell me,” I said, surprised at my own boldness.

  “It’s fine,” she said, waving me off. I made a huffing noise and she sighed.

  “I wasn’t supposed to be the one running the gym. I had a . . . business partner, and now I don’t. There.” Something about the way she said “business partner” told me there was much more to that story.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, picking up her napkin and starting to shred it. Guess we’d touched a nerve.

  “That sucks, I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it. I’d thought about having a partner, but I was too worried that someone would screw me over. I generally believed the best in people, except where money was concerned. Then you never knew who you were really dealing with.

  Our drinks came and Tuesday stayed lost in her thoughts and I had plenty of my own.

  “Um, how long have you done yoga?” she asked after a little while. She sounded awkward asking the question, as if it was something she wasn’t used to doing.

  “Let me think, about five or six years now? I decided to take a class in college when I was completely stressed out and working three jobs. I thought it would be something I’d do once a week, but I kept coming back and coming back and I couldn’t get enough. I decided that’s what I wanted to dedicate my life to. Helping other people the way yoga helped me.” I didn’t care if that sounded sappy; it was the truth and I wasn’t going to shy away from it. In fact, I hadn’t told her the entire truth: yoga had saved my life.

  “That’s beautiful,” she said, and I almost slid off my chair. I wasn’t expecting that reaction.

  “Thank you,” I said, shocked. “When did you find CrossFit?” Her face fell and her mouth curved into a frown.

  “Let’s just say there was an ex involved,” she finally said, as our food arrived. Hers took up three quarters of the table and I had to almost stack my plates on top of each other.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, but I shook my head.

  “It’s fine.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I’m going to be done with most of these in about five minutes,” she said, stabbing her fork into a huge piece of steak on top of her salad.

  “Good to know,” I said, going for my fries first. I added extra salt and slathered them in ketchup. I didn’t miss Tuesday making a face at the ketchup—that I ignored.

  What followed was an eating performance that was both impressive and beautiful. I’d never been fascinated by someone eating before, but Tuesday was something else. The salad disappeared within moments, and then she systematically demolished every other plate in a methodical fashion. She had impeccable manners, didn’t spill anything, and kept her napkin in her lap the whole time. Then there was me, who dropped a bunch of fries in my lap, got dressing on my shirt, and nearly knocked over my water glass three times. Tuesday
eating was like ballet. Me eating was like a toddler who had just been handed a fork for the first time.

  She finished everything and I still had a pile of fries left, and she was definitely eyeing them.

  “Do you want some?” I asked, pushing the plate toward her. The waiter had cleared her finished plates ages ago.

  “I would, but they’re tainted now,” she said.

  “Don’t like ketchup?” I asked, picking up a fry and dipping the entire thing in the pile of ketchup I’d added to the plate. I almost wanted more ketchup than fry sometimes. I had jumbo bottles of ketchup in my fridge right now because I was scared of running out. That would be the worst thing to ever happen to me.

  “You might as well have put blood on those fries. Actually, blood would be preferable to the monstrosity known as ketchup.” I narrowed my eyes and pointed at her with my ketchup-soaked fry.

  “That is your opinion and I will not accept such negativity. Not in front of my precious fries.” I put the fry in my mouth and then pretended to shield the rest of them with my body.

  Tuesday blinked a few times at me and then her lips twitched, as if she was fighting a smile. Why couldn’t she just let herself smile if she wanted to? It was so easy, why fight it? I still didn’t understand her at all.

  “It’s not an opinion; it’s a fact.” I rolled my eyes.

  “That’s your opinion.” We were going to get nowhere with this, but I was beginning to think she was doing this just to wind me up.

  Tuesday shook her head and finished her smoothie.

  “Are you full now?” I asked. She had to be. There was no way she could still be hungry.

  “For a little while,” she said, patting her stomach.

  “How much do you have to eat in a day?” I couldn’t imagine the grocery bills.

  “Let’s just say a lot,” she replied. “It’s more about the right kinds of calories to fuel my workouts. I probably shouldn’t have had the fries, but I couldn’t say no.” Same.

  “How much do you work out per day?” I knew I was firing a lot of questions at her, but I was fascinated. I wanted to know how her body came to look like that. What did it take to carve out those muscles?

  “Depends on the day. And CrossFit isn’t necessarily about working out longer, it’s about doing high-intensity movements. Instead of lifting twenty pounds a hundred times, lift sixty thirty times. There’s a lot of rest in between as well.” Huh. I had no idea. It had all seemed like a total white douche-bro kind of thing, but Tuesday definitely wasn’t that.

  She told me more about CrossFit, and I realized that this was the most she’d talked about something since we met. So she could talk about something. It was clear in the tone of her voice and the way she used her hands that she loved what she was talking about. I imagined that I looked a little bit like that when I talked about yoga.

  Tuesday paused and her face went a little red.

  “Sorry,” she said, and I watched her retreat into herself again.

  “What for? I asked. I wanted to know.” She sighed and the waiter brought the check. Before I could reach for it, she snapped it up.

  “I’ve got this,” she said. Not that I wanted to pay for all she’d eaten, but I was a little insulted that she hadn’t even given me a chance to ask to split it. I could have just paid for my own stuff.

  “Fine,” I said, gritting my teeth.

  “You wanna pay for all my shit?” she asked, sliding her card into the slot and putting it on the table with a crack.

  “No, but I would have split it. This isn’t a date.” For the first time, I actually heard her laugh. It was a low sound that reverberated through my body and made my blood concentrate in interesting areas. I shivered a little. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms. They’d broken out in goosebumps.

  “No, this isn’t a date,” she agreed, shaking her head. She didn’t make any other comments about it or say something like “no homo,” so I took that as a good sign. You could never tell when someone was going to come out as a raging bigot, so I was always wary when it came to new people until I had confirmation otherwise. So far so good with Tuesday.

  We left the café and went back to our building. I guess it was technically her building. I didn’t like that she had so much power over me. Sure, I had a lease, but she could still make my life miserable if she wanted to.

  “Thanks for lunch,” I said, as we paused in front of the gym door.

  “Thanks for helping me with the logo,” she said. I wasn’t sure what else to say, but I had to get upstairs to make sure I had time to check everyone in for class.

  “Sorry, I have to go,” I said. I wasn’t sure why I was apologizing. We were clearly done here.

  “Have fun,” she said, and pushed through the door. That was that.

  Four

  A few hours later, it started again. That music. I was right in the middle of a sun salutation, and there it was. If possible, it was louder than ever. I had to bite my tongue so I didn’t curse right as my students were going into downward-facing dog. My jaw locked up, and it was a struggle to keep my voice level as I took them through the rest of the flow and onward to savasana.

  I thought Tuesday and I had made progress, but I guess not. Now I was being punished for . . . having lunch with her? What the fuck was this shit? A few people made comments about the music and I tried to be as diplomatic as possible, but if this continued, I would not be responsible for my actions. As soon as everyone was out of the studio, I let out a primal scream.

  “Everything okay?” said a voice behind me, and I spun around. Ellen was there, leaning on her walker and smirking.

  “Yup, fine.” I pointed to the floor where the vibrations from the music were tickling my feet something terrible, “except for THAT.”

  “Yeah, what is up with the music? You’d think the floors or ceilings would be thicker, but this is an old building and I guess not? It’s pretty bad.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’ve talked to her about it, but it’s like this weird game to her.” This wasn’t a game to me, and I was pissed that she was interfering with my business.

  “Who is her?” Ellen asked.

  “Oh, our new landlord, Tuesday. She owns the gym downstairs and is responsible for that.” I jabbed my finger at the floor again. “She apparently has a vendetta against me. I thought the endless construction down there was going to be there worst, but no, this is like slow torture.”

  “Torture by tunes,” Ellen said.

  “Exactly.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?” she asked.

  I threw up my hands. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve been down there already, but it’s not working. I literally just had lunch with her; I don’t know why she’s doing this.” Ellen tilted her head to the side. I couldn’t get over how cute her hair looked with her freckles. Just so adorable. Both her girlfriends were so lucky.

  “I have a theory, but you’re not ready to hear it,” she said, and started to leave. I grabbed the mop and started working on cleaning the floor.

  “It better not be that she has a crush on me!” I called after her, but she just waved and hit the button for the elevator.

  “See you tomorrow,” she said, as the doors opened.

  “Bye,” I called, and then it was just me and the mop and the music. That motherfucking music. I turned on some yoga chants, but it couldn’t do anything in the presence of such an intense stereo. I didn’t turn the music up too loud during class, since it could be distracting when you were trying to get into a good mental place. Now I was wishing I’d put in some massive concert-style speakers so I could blast Tuesday away.

  I wasn’t going to go down there and yell at her again. That hadn’t worked last time. I was going to try something different: ignore her. I wasn’t sure how long I could last, but I was going to try. If I could go on a silent retreat and not speak for a week, I could ignore this shit for a few hours.

  I puttered around the studio and hummed
to myself, but after an hour it wormed its way into my brain and I couldn’t shake it. I was going to be hearing base echoes when I went home.

  So much for trying to ignore it.

  Yet again, I stormed down the stairs and slammed the door open. Tuesday was alone again, lifting weights in the shortest shorts that could barely pass for shorts and a white and gray sports bra. Her back was coated with sweat and I could hear her breathing, even over the intense loudness of the music.

  It took me a second to remember what I was going to say in the face of . . . all of that.

  Tuesday finished lifting her set and dropped the weight bar with a clang. She reached for a towel and then turned around.

  “Hey,” she said. “Would you mind handing me that water bottle?” I narrowed my eyes.

  “Turn. The. Music. Down. I thought we’d been over this before. I thought going to lunch with you was somehow going to change things, but no. You’re still an asshole.” I hadn’t really meant to call her an asshole out loud, but something about her just slammed my rage button. To be completely honest, Tuesday hit a lot of my buttons.

  “Ouch,” she said, pretending to wince. “Did you really think we were BFFs now?” Her tone was harsh and sarcastic, and I couldn’t believe this was the same person I’d just argued about the merits of ketchup with a few hours ago. “I didn’t make you a friendship bracelet or anything, should I have? Do you want to come sleep over at my house? We can do prank calls and have pillow fights.” My rage-o-meter was off the charts at this point.

  “Now you’re mocking me and being a complete asshole. Also, prank calls are mostly impossible since everyone has caller ID on their phones. Unless you’ve got a burner phone or use a third-party service to make it.” Her eyebrows went up a little.

  “You have a lot of knowledge about prank calls?”

  I waved that off.

  “That isn’t the point. You’re being a dick, and I want it to stop. Either cut it out, or install some soundproofing in this place. My students are getting upset and so help me, if this messes with my business, I will make your life a fucking hell. I don’t care if you’re my landlord.” I hadn’t noticed that I’d walked toward her until I was right up in her face. My body shook a little, and hot and cold flashes rolled through me. I had to look up a little to meet those cold blue eyes, but I found something else in them that I couldn’t read. They snapped with a fire that was like lightning.